


where the dogs of society howl

by jorgelorenzo



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: But you can read it whatever way you want, Catalan GP 2019, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It's more platonic than anything, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jorgelorenzo/pseuds/jorgelorenzo
Summary: “Ciao.” Jorge greets. “I didn’t know if I should still…”He trails off, waiting on some sort of sign from the Italian.Valentino uncrosses his arms and sighs deeply. “You shouldn’t, but, you’re here now. Come on.”





	where the dogs of society howl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zjemciciastko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/gifts).



> to my dearest zjemciciastko, for the fact i have spent all evening not replying to you to write this, i apologise, and hope you will like it. you are my strength and spirit and i am eternally grateful to have you. thank you for being you and everything you do. this is for you.
> 
> the title comes from "goodbye yellow brick road" by sir elton john (p.s if you haven't seen Rocketman yet, GO AND SEE IT, it's amazing.)
> 
> also, usual stuff, this isn't real, don't send to anyone in it etc. and it's not beta'd and i'm tired af so there is a big chance there are a load of mistakes so if there are, let me know!

The time between Jorge knocking on the door and it being opened is relatively short, but every single second seems to pass agonisingly slow. When Valentino finally answers, his expression is carefully blank.

“Ciao.” He says, arms crossed over his chest and Jorge feels tension spike in his stomach. It’s late, the race long since over, and Valentino is only in sweats and t-shirt. Jorge has his pyjamas on underneath the Repsol hoodie he’s wearing.

“Ciao.” Jorge greets. “I didn’t know if I should still…”

He trails off, waiting on _some_ sort of sign from the Italian.

Valentino uncrosses his arms and sighs deeply. “You shouldn’t, but, you’re here now. Come on.”

Jorge follows him into the motorhome, Valentino padding along ahead of him, turning off the lights as he goes. His motorhome is ever the same as it was all those years ago when Jorge was at Yamaha, when this was only done in the dead of night and both of them would never admit to it come morning. Jorge doesn’t think either of them would probably admit exactly what they got up to even now, but he was more than happy to call Valentino a friend these days.

“Ice cream is on the side.” Valentino tells him, gesturing to the kitchen countertop as they pass. “Sort yourself out and I’ll put on the TV. Any requests?”

Jorge can’t help but to smile a little that Valentino still left him ice cream in spite of everything today.

“Something funny,” Jorge calls after the Italian as he retreats to the bedroom. “I need a good laugh.”

He sorts himself a bowl of ice cream, putting in a bit more than he usually would, before following Valentino into his room. The other man is already slouched down on the bed, glass of what looks like whiskey in one hand and cigarette in the other.

“I have opened the window.” Valentino says before Jorge can open his mouth. “So don’t bitch.”

Jorge slumps down next to him, resting the cold bowl carefully on a cushion.

“Got the bottle?” Jorge asks, gesturing to the whiskey.

Valentino pulls it up from the side of the bed, handing it over. Jorge uncaps the bottle and pours the amber liquid over the ice cream, not caring if it will ruin the taste or curdle the cream; he’s had a long fucking day.

“Steady on,” Valentino grabs the bottle back from him before he can pour anymore. “In a minute you’ll be asking me for a pack of cigarettes or something.”

Jorge snorts. “Not like my life could be anymore shit right now, might as well indulge myself.”

He ignores the look Valentino sends him.

They sit in relative silence for a few minutes, Valentino smoking idly while watching TV and Jorge steadily eating his ice cream. It’s comfortable, something Jorge would never admit, sat here with Valentino. In spite of every argument, every insult, every time they tried to one up the other, he has a strange amount of trust for Valentino and he feels comfortable here with him. There are parts of him Valentino knows that no one else does, and he has a feeling it’s the same for the Italian.

“I’m sorry.” Jorge says quietly, when he can take it no longer. The words almost burst from him, lips moving without his permission. “For the race, I mean. I fucked you over.”

Valentino shrugs. “Was an accident, could have happened to any of us.”

“I know, it was just,” Jorge pauses, unsure of how to explain it. Valentino turns to look at him with piercing eyes. “I had a good start and I felt like I was finally getting it and then I got too ahead of myself and took everyone out. It just feels like I’m back at square one again, and I’ve pissed everyone off while doing it. Mack looked like he was going to hit me earlier.”

“He was misinformed by a journalist about something you said, it’s been dealt with.” Valentino waves his hand idly, smoke wafting as he does. “And again, was an accident, not intentional. If it had been, I would be hitting you right now.”

Jorge gives him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Valentino seems to sense Jorge’s displeasure, almost as though it radiated through the room.

“Is not the end of your career.” Valentino says softly. “Do you not remember me at Ducati? Do you not remember _yourself_ at Ducati?”

“Of course I fucking remember, but this is different.” Jorge snaps, feeling the sensation he’s grown to hate crawl over his skin. “It’s _humiliating_ , the little bastard up the front winning every race by a mile and I can’t even get in the points on the same bike. At least with Ducati I managed to sort of compete, and now I feel like I’m back at the start again and I can’t seem to get anything right, everyone is getting fed up with me and I don’t know what to do to change it. Maybe this is karma paying me back for fucking Dani over when he didn’t deserve it, or maybe it’s just his seat is cursed and I-”

Valentino’s hand comes up over his mouth, effectively cutting off any further ranting about his bike.

“Jorge,” Valentino’s eyes are kind and for a ridiculous second, Jorge sort of wants to cry. “I _know_ it’s not fun to be at the back of the grid and the bike never seems to go right, but it’s going to be okay. Things will change, you will learn and the bike will become your own. No one is perfect right away.”

“Marc was.” Jorge huffs.

“The little bastard is a freak of nature, the rest of us mortals have to do the best we can do.” Valentino rolls his eyes, voice almost fond as he talks about Marc. “You’ll be back up with the best of us soon enough, just needs time and patience.”

Jorge nods, putting his now melted ice cream down on the side table and sliding down a little further on the bed.

“I don’t even know what I was thinking today.” Jorge admits quietly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I just wanted to get in the points so badly; I don’t think I even considered that I could have crashed.”

“Maybe,” Valentino says, voice sly. “Your ambition outweighed your talent.”

Jorge hits him on the leg and Valentino cackles. “Fuck you.”

They watch the weird Italian TV show for a while longer, Jorge not understanding most of it and feeling his eyes begin to flutter closed occasionally, trying to force himself to stay awake. It’s fully dark outside now and he knows he’ll end up relegated to the sofa once Valentino decides it’s time for sleep, a deal they had wordlessly made a long time ago whenever they had stayed a little too late to want to go back to their own motorhome.

“You know, the Yamaha was the only bike that I ever really _got_.” Jorge slurs, deliberately not looking at Valentino as he says this. “I’ve never felt at home on another bike.”

“I know that feeling. Maybe, well,” Valentino is quiet for a long moment. “Next season will probably be my last season. I could speak to Lin for you, if you like, talk about giving you my seat.”

If Jorge was more awake, this revelation and offer would probably startle him. As it is, he’s just touched, a warmth blooming in his chest at the words and spreading over him.

“Thank you, but you can’t retire.” He tells Valentino, reaching out and patting him on the thigh. “You’re not allowed to. Who else is going to bitch about Marc with me?”

Valentino snorts softly. “I’ll only be a phone call away. I can come to races if you want me to, come in the garage, if you and Mack haven’t put a wall up in there already.”

His arm comes up round Jorge’s shoulder and a hand weaves itself into Jorge’s hair (the cigarette Valentino was smoking evidently having been disposed of while Jorge was trying not to drift off), fingers moving in gentle circles on his scalp. The sensation it evokes is blissful and Jorge closes his eyes and leans into the feeling.

“That’s nice.” Jorge mumbles, words slurring together. “You have nice hands, Vale.”

“Grazie, Jorge.” Valentino’s voice is tinged with laughter. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re more awake.”

Jorge doesn’t care; he’s had a shit day and Valentino’s fingers massaging his scalp are enough to take away the pressure that’s been building there. He blinks a few times, trying to savour the fact that he is for once truly relaxed and loose limbed, but his eyes drift shut, and before Jorge knows it, darkness overtakes him.

+

When he wakes, it’s still dark outside. It takes Jorge a second to realise that, firstly, this isn’t his motorhome, and secondly, he isn’t alone. He’s under the covers now, which must have been Valentino’s doing as he _knows_ he wasn’t when he fell asleep and, while the smell of smoke lingers, he can hear Valentino’s soft breathing next to him. A check of his phone tells him it’s almost 2am.

“Vale?” He whispers into the darkness, unsure as to how to proceed here.

Valentino groans. “What time is it?”

“Two o’clock.” Jorge tells him.

“What the fuck, why are you waking me up?” Valentino’s arm reaches out and hits him on the chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m in your _bed_.” Jorge says, voice a little hysterical. They’ve never done this; the staying over, yes, but not the staying in one another’s beds. There’s something more intimate about it and the fact that he’s perfectly okay with it makes Jorge feel on edge. “Do you not want me to go to the sofa?”

“No, else I would have kicked you out earlier” Valentino moans, the mattress creaking a little as he moves around to make himself comfortable. Jorge doesn’t know if he wants to turn to look at him or not. “Just go the fuck to sleep, I’m exhausted.”

Jorge snorts. “What are you going to do, spoon me or something?”

“If it will get you to go to sleep, yes.” Valentino says, and before Jorge can say anything more, he feels Valentino’s hand crawl over his hip.

“Get off me, you old creep.” Jorge slaps Valentino’s hand away, Valentino cackling as he does. “Alright, I’ll go back to sleep.”

Under the covers, he moves his leg and finds his foot pressed up against Valentino’s shin. He curls his toes lightly against the skin there, the gesture small, but clear.

“Night, Vale.”

Valentino presses his leg gently back into Jorge’s foot. “Buonanotte, Jorge.”

And in spite of everything, Jorge falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in months.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed, love jazz x


End file.
